


How Chairman Meow Came to Live With the High Warlock of Brooklyn

by Steampunkgirl198



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Gen, I'm so sorry I wrote this in 2013, The story behind Magnus adopting his cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steampunkgirl198/pseuds/Steampunkgirl198
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short, cute story about how Magnus found the Chairman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Chairman Meow Came to Live With the High Warlock of Brooklyn

_“Even after all these years, the people of New York City continue to surprise me,”_ Magnus thought to himself, listening half-heartedly to the frantic tale of his newest client, as he reclined in the plush, and now blue to match the tips of his hair, velvet armchair in his loft. The client was an elderly woman of Asian descent, with long silver hair pinned back with a jade pin, a family heirloom, he guessed. She wasn’t very tall, and her feet barely touched the ornate rug beneath her. Ms. Mèng, he suddenly remembered, that was her name. He met so _many_ people…

She would have appeared normal, were it not for the odd glint in her eyes, and the barely visible _glimmer_ that surrounded her. She had the blood of the Fair Folk in her; not much, but enough to know of the hidden world. Her grandmother had probably been a healer. Generations of stories and myths handed down the family tree had made her superstitious, which was why she believed the creature “terrorizing” her shop was no normal being.

“It’s _awful,”_ she said again, “Every night, it gets into the dumpster and scatters the trash everywhere, and it tears up my garden! Not to mention the mess it made inside the store! It tore through all my bolts of silk and knocked countless items off the shelves!

“Uh-huh,” Magnus said, “Have you ever _seen_ this creature?” He asked. He was fairly certain the “creature” was nothing more than an animal. A very persistent gang of raccoons perhaps. And if that was the case, there was really no reason for him to be involved in such a mundane problem.

“Well, no,” she stammered. “But I’ve heard it,” she paused dramatically, “it _screams.”_

“Screams?” He repeated questioningly.

“ _Yes,”_ she nodded. “Awful sound, I almost had it trapped once, but it started shrieking and managed to get away before I could see it. It nearly bit my hand off though!”

“Well, it’s most likely some sort of stray animal has figured its way into your shop,” he said. “I would suggest having someone come look for holes in the building’s outer walls and then having them covered. Now if that’s all-” he began to say.

“You think I don’t know the difference between a stray dog and a demon?” She asked shrilly, her eyebrows arching. “I didn’t pay you to insult me warlock!”

“Actually,” he said, regarding her coolly with hooded, glittering eyes, “you’ve yet to pay me at all.”

“And what a relief that is if that’s all the help you can offer! Some High Warlock of Brooklyn you are,” she grumbled crossly.

 _What a lot of personality she has,_ he noted as she continued to protest. Magnus often found the elderly depressing, wrinkled reminders of the oh-so limited time most of those around him had. Not to mention they routinely smelled of mothballs. It made him long for more permanent company, since no matter how often he had guests, whether as attendees of a party or as clients, there were always the times it was just him, all alone in his flamboyantly decorated loft.  Despite her age, she seemed to have kept her spirit, a nice change from so many of the desperate souls that came to him. And besides, how hard could it really be for a warlock such as himself to catch a stray animal? He quickly came to a decision.

He held up his hand, the collection of rings on his fingers catching the light. “Alright,” he said, interrupting her tirade, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. Obviously she had not expected this. She quickly regained her composure though, and said, “Well of course you will. I believe you already have the address of my shop Mr. Bane,” she said stiffly.

“Yes,” he nodded, amused.

“Then that will be all,” she said, taking out a small purse. She counted out the payment and quickly departed, after briskly nodding when he said he would keep an eye on the shop the next few nights. 

He closed the door behind her with a small laugh. What bitter irony that those who were the most begrudging in requesting his help because he was a Downworlder so often had unnatural bloodlines themselves. He glanced at the wall clock next to him and decided that he had just enough time to rest for a while before tracking down the mysterious “creature” tormenting his client. 

………….

The client’s shop was in a building on the edge of Chinatown, Magnus discovered. The wall’s light brown brick contrasted with the surrounding red of the neighboring buildings, and was about three stories tall. The storefront was on the ground floor and the living quarters were above. It looked as though the third story was just big enough for an attic at the top, but he couldn’t be sure. Not that it was of any importance though; he was focused on the store.

After fifteen very uneventful minutes, Magnus decided to walk around the back and see the extent of havoc in the garden.

Coming around the corner, everything first appeared to be as it should. But as he grew closer, the scent of something similar to wet fur hit him, and he could see claw marks dug into the ground at the back of the tiny plot. _Big_ claw marks. Magnus knelt down to study them closer, and came to the conclusion that either the neighborhood raccoons were on steroids, or his client had a werewolf problem after all.

He stayed for several more hours, until deciding that the shop was safe for night and he would come back the following evening better prepared to confront the troublemakers.

………….

The next evening, Magnus had been in the alleyway next to the shop sparsely ten minutes before the tell-tale stench of werewolf flooded the air.  Two large wolves, one black, one reddish-brown, sailed over the chain link fence, their claws leaving long scratches in the dirt. Just as Magnus was about to step forward, he heard another sound. Whining.

“ _Guys,”_ a young boy’s voice cried. “Wait up!” A brown-haired young boy was trying to climb over the fence, and ended up falling over it instead.

“A young _pup_ ,” Magnus thought to himself. The child was half transformed, and struggling to keep up with the two older lycanthropes.

He walked quietly forward, before stopping in front of the boy. “Need a hand?” Magnus asked calmly, holding out a hand.

The pup looked up at him with a gasp and gaped at Magnus’s appearance. Taking in his knee-length coat, purple tank that stretched over his chest like a second skin, fingers covered by glittering rings, and leather pants, his eyes widened. Despite the fact that Magnus _had_ chosen a more subdued outfit that evening.

“Y-you’re wearing make-up,” the pup stammered.

Magnus sighed inwardly; really, it was only a bit of eye shadow. “Yes, I am. I’m also a warlock, in case you wanted to point that out as well.” He said, several blue sparks flying from his fingertips.  The two other lycanthropes tensed, trying to judge where the conversation was leading.

“Why are you here warlock?” One of them growled, morphing slowly into his human form.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Magnus replied. “You see this shop here?” He asked, gesturing to the building behind him.

They nodded.

“It belongs to a client of mine,” he explained. “ _Something_ has been giving her all sorts of trouble. Strewing trash everywhere, tearing up her _garden_ ,” he paused, looking at the werewolves. “And breaking into her shop.”

“Hold on a minute,” said the black-furred lycanthrope, who had, up until that point, yet to say anything. “We’ve just been using the lots back here as a shortcut. You know, to avoid the busier streets. Pack Leader says to avoid the busy places so we don’t attract attention.”

“Uh-huh,” Magnus said, unconvinced. “And what do you think your pack leader would say were he to find out you’d been breaking into mundane’s homes? That seems like it would attract exactly the kind of attention he wants to avoid.”

“But you can’t do that! We didn’t break in anywhere!” the pup whined, sounding panicked.  

“Is that so?” Magnus asked, eyeing the pup with slight annoyance. He was growing tired of all this. It was cold outside and there was now mud from the day’s earlier storm all over his platform boots. An easy fix, but it nevertheless was having a negative effect on his mood. 

“He’s telling the truth,” the red furred (now shaggy red hair as he changed fully into his human form) werewolf said. “We follow the Accords and leave the mundanes alone. Your client probably has a raccoon problem.”

“Perhaps,” Magnus said. “In any case, I think it would be best for you to find another shortcut.”

“Fine,” he snarled. “Let’s go,” he said to the others, before morphing into a wolf once again. The others followed, and Magnus was soon alone.

“I believe my work here is done,” he said to himself, walking back the way he had come.

…………

The next morning the High Warlock of Brooklyn was awoken by the sound of someone pounding on the front door. His loft was sound-proofed to prevent too much noise from going out. _Maybe I should consider making it so no sound comes in here,_ he thought to himself. He looked at the clock beside his bed and groaned. It was 7:13 a.m.! What was _wrong_ with people?

“ _Mr. Bane!”_ Came a yell from outside the front door. _“Open the door, I must speak with you!”_

He sighed, pulled a red silk robe over himself, fixed his hair with a snap of his fingers, and reluctantly opened the door. He was met by an infuriated Ms. Mèng.

“What is the meaning of this?!” She demanded, waving a slip of fabric at him. Her hair was falling down the side of her face in tangles, and it appeared as though she’d run all the way there the moment she woke up. Perhaps she had, considering the time.

“My dear lady,” he said, “it is quite early in the morning and I am fairly certain I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please either specify your meaning or come back in five hours.” After a moment of  silence, he began to close the door.

“I mean, you said you were going to watch my shop!” She shrieked.

“And I did,” he said, surprised. “The Children of the Moon seemed to have been using your backyard as a shortcut, I doubt they even noticed your garden. Nevertheless, I convinced them to reconsider their route,” he finished.

“Moon children? You mean vampires?” She asked. Apparently just because she knew of the hidden world didn’t mean she knew much of its kind.

“No, the vampires are the Night’s Children. The Children of the Moon are lycanthropes. Werewolves,” he clarified.

“Well that’s all well and good with the garden,” she said, “but what about my shop?”

“What about it?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Something broke in again! It’s destroying my antique shop! I came in and _another_ cloth was torn!”

 _So that’s what’s in the shop,_ Magnus thought to himself, before realizing his client was still talking. _That’s...more than a little stereotypical actually._

“What are you going to do about it?!” She was asking.

“Have you considered that the creature breaking into your shop may simply be a r-” He was cut off by the infuriated woman.

She pointed her finger at him and all but growled, “Don’t. You. _Dare._ Say. Raccoon.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a small smile. Mortals, they always tried to be in control. Trying to ignore how little affect their short lives really had.

 “Good,” she said sternly, holding out a small pouch to him.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It is a key to the shop,” she said matter-of-factly. “If you were unable to prevent the creature from getting into the shop in the first place, then maybe you can catch it once it’s already inside.”

He nodded, and closed the door before his client could protest further. With a sigh, he dropped the key on a table and thought with amusement how differently things usually went when someone offered him a key to their home.

…………

The antique shop was cluttered, yet completely organized. Among the displays of jewelry, lamps, vases, and other furniture, there was a table dedicated to intricately carved boxes, placed in order of length. A glass case full of perfectly placed porcelain dolls followed him with glass eyes; and delicate paper fans lined the walls next to beautiful tapestries. Which, upon closer look, were shredded at the ends. One had only the smallest of tears, and Magnus recognized it from the slip of cloth his client had shown him. It was really barely noticeable though, nothing to get so worked up about. _Ah well,_ he thought, _As long as I’ve been paid I suppose it doesn’t matter how trivial the problem seems._

Once again, it seemed to Magnus that his client simply had a stray animal getting into her shop, whatever had torn the tapestries couldn’t be very big. It probably _was_ a raccoon. Just then, Magnus heard a small shuffling noise coming from the back of the shop. It was coming from beneath a shawl that had fallen behind an ottoman. He peered at the dark fabric, and saw something small moving beneath it. _A large rat then,_ he thought to himself. He quickly yanked back the cloth, and gasped. It was a kitten!

He was a tiny slip of white fur with grey stripes, so small Magnus could hold him in his hand. He mewled loudly as Magnus gently picked him up, and then blinked up at him with little blue eyes, the pupils slits just like Magnus’s own. _He’s so young to be away_ _from his mother_ , Magnus thought to himself, stroking the kitten’s head slowly. Its mewling quickly turned to a purr, and it bumped its head against his hand happily.  Magnus suddenly remembered what his client had said during their first meeting.

“ _I almost had it trapped once, but it started shrieking and managed to get away before I could see it. It nearly bit my hand off though!”_

 _That must have been his mother,_ Magnus thought. It would certainly explain the tipped over trash cans and ripped cloth. _My client scared her off so badly that now she won’t come back for her kitten…_ “It’s alright,” Magnus murmured softly to the kitten as it began to fall asleep in his arms. “I know what it’s like to be abandoned too.”

…………

Magnus watched the kitten breath softly as it slept in its makeshift bed. It had seemed found of the blue armchair, so Magnus had taken several of his scarves and placed them on top of the cushion. The tiny feline had then immediately curled up and fallen asleep; regally claiming the space as his own.

 _“It’s like they believe they’re all royalty,”_ Magnus thought to himself, smiling. His smile faded though as he was reminded of another person who possessed a similar attitude. He picked up his cell phone and dialed his client’s number. 

 _“Hello?”_ She answered.

“Hello,” he replied. “I believe I found the uh, “creature” that’s been breaking into your shop.”

 _“Really?!”_ She exclaimed. _“Was it some kind of demon? That screeching I heard-”_

“It was a cat,” he said, cutting her off.

 _“A…demonic cat?”_ She asked.

“No, just a cat,” he assured her. “I believe she’d been living in your shop. The tipped trash cans were just her scavenging for food.”

 _“But what about the cloths?”_ She asked in disbelief.

“Bedding for her kitten,” he answered. “No demons, just a stray.”

There was a pause.

 _“Oh,”_ she said quietly. A moment of silence passed before she said stiffly, “ _Well, thank you for service Mr. Bane.”_

“Of course, Ms. Mao,” he said, rolling his eyes. _Mundanes…_

 _“Mèng,”_ she said flatly.

“Hmm?”

 _“My name is Ms. Mèng!”_ She said in annoyance. _“Mao was the name of Chairman Mao! Can you really not be bothered to even remember your client’s names? What kind of-”_ Magnus never heard the rest, as he then hung up.

 _“What an annoying woman,”_ he thought to himself with distaste. There was a fine line between spirited and entitled. At least one good thing had come from the job though...

As if sensing his thoughts, the kitten woke up, and meowed loudly for attention.

“Alright, alright,” Magnus murmured, walking over to the kitten. _I have to call him something,_ he thought to himself. _“But what? Something regal to match his personality...”_

 “Are you a Prince?” He wondered. “No, that’s not right…. Emperor? No…” 

The kitten stared at him from the chair, his tail waving back and forth as he focused on Magnus’s ring-covered hand.

 _“It should be something no one will forget…”_ He looked at the kitten again, who was now trying to climb over the chair’s arm, and smiled as an idea came to him. “That’s it! You’re a Chairman! Chairman Meow,” he said, picking the kitten up. Chairman Meow purred loudly, and Magnus laughed. “It’s official then. We should celebrate!”


End file.
